


Five Times Erik Was Hired To Kill Charles, And One Time They Met As Friends

by Dorkangel



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 5 Things, Azazel Being an Asshole, Calm Down Erik, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Charles is a Troll, Emma Frost Has No Emotions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Fluff and Crack, Hitman Erik, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Protective Erik, kid Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2733548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkangel/pseuds/Dorkangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Erik is a hitman, and Charles is the kid that, for whatever reason, he just CANNOT bring himself to kill.<br/>And then, of course, Charles just had to grow up to be ATTRACTIVE...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Erik Was Hired To Kill Charles, And One Time They Met As Friends

Erik Lehnsherr was twenty one years old, tall, attractive, and utterly, totally ruthless. Anyone who met him on the street avoided his cold, dead eyes and cringed away from his scowling face, and anyone who knew him made sure to spend as little time in his company as possible.   
And that was exactly how he liked it. He and people in general didn't really get on, and he preferred it immensely if they left him alone. Also, it meant that he wouldn't have to switch identities too often.  
Because Erik was, in the bluntest terms, a hitman.

1.  
He hated sniper rifles. They were impersonal, indirect and he was shit with them, although they made his job a hell of a lot easier. So he used pistols.  
"He's in the kitchen." whispered the voice of his boss in his ear, code name Frost. He didn't ask her name, didn't talk to her outside of work. "Charles Xavier, kinda short, blue eyes, brown hair."  
"Got it." he muttered back, and pulled a balaclava down over his face. A bit cliche, but he would rather be cliche than caught.  
It only took Erik a few seconds to break the window and jump through, a tiny figure in blue pyjamas startling with a high, terrified gasp and wheeling to face him with innocent and frightened - and very blue indeed - eyes.  
"That's him." continued Frost coldly. Erik's eyebrows raised, but otherwise he didn't react.  
The kid looked about seven.  
"Are you Charles Xavier?" he asked, voice rough, adopting a Russian accent just to piss off his partner, Azazel.  
The boy looked frozen, and didn't reply, and a little girl of maybe five came running into the kitchen, looking around frantically for the source of the breaking glass and, at the sight of Erik, froze as well, her hand darting out to grab that of the older little boy.  
Erik just raised his gun, ignoring the way both of their eyes went wide with terror. He had probably just traumatised the pair of them.  
"Are you Charles Xavier?" he growled again, and the boy snapped into action, grabbing the girl and pulling her protectively behind him. Only once he was finished with that did he glance up at Erik and nod hesitantly.  
"A-Are you going to kill me?" he asked, still shakily but surprisingly calm, given the situation.  
"That's the plan." nodded Erik matter-of-factly, shoving the barrel of the gun between the boy's eyes. He could feel guilty later, he reasoned, as the girl began sobbing softly.  
"My step-daddy sent you to kill me." whimpered the kid, considerably more panicked now, screwing his eyes closed and very clearly bracing himself for the impact of the bullet. Erik didn't doubt it for a moment, since both of them seemed so small and thin, and the boy had - it looked like - been attempting to steal food from his own house. There should certainly be enough money in this place to pay for enough food for little kids.  
For a moment he paused, considering shooting the little girl too, just for the sake of not leaving her huddled behind the bloodied corpse of her brother. But he didn't want to do it, and his boss would probably scream at him. Still, witnesses...?  
Erik exhaled slowly and shoved the gun back in its holster, watching as Charles slowly, hopefully, unclenched his eyes. He crouched down so that his eyes were level with the boy's, then slowly pulled off the balaclava and ripped the earpiece he was wearing out.  
"Fuck you, Frost," he snarled viciously into the mouth end of it, which he habitually never extended. "I'm not shooting children."  
With that, he shoved it into his pocket, ran a hand through his short hair, and turned back to the boy. Erik almost jumped at the intensity of his eyes as he was stared at.  
"I'm Charles." whispered the kid, and he nodded again.  
"I know."  
"I thought maybe if I told you properly you'd tell me yours." Charles seemed almost delighted.  
"I'm Erik." he replied, holding out a hand, which the boy took with strange formality and shook. Behind him, the little girl was still crying.  
"Just Erik?"  
"Yes. I'm going to go now."  
"Ok." said Charles, his voice beginning to shake as he went into shock. "B-Bye bye, Erik."

2\. Janos was shooting up a school. Fucking Janos was shooting up a motherfucking school. He was going to actually murder Frost, with a large, blunt knife. Who sent an assassin to shoot up a school?! Who would agree to shoot up a school?!  
Janos was another pseudonym, of course, - although not a codename, his codename was Riptide - since Janos himself was Mexican and couldn't pronounce it. The kid was older than Erik, by at least a few years, but Erik wasn't like other people and he couldn't help but think of Janos of just a kid.  
He caught up to him just as he tugged the door to a classroom open, a machine gun in each hand. All Janos had managed to do so far was punch holes in various walls and scare a few teachers to death, since the kids were in lockdown, but he was an assassin and he would certainly kill whoever he had been sent here to kill.  
"Riptide!" yelled Erik desperately, as the darker man lowered his guns and grinned coldly from under his mask.  
Janos twisted around for a moment, but just snorted and walked forward. Erik cursed in some languages that he really didn't want to think about how he knew, and tackled the man from behind, sending him flying. Somewhere in the background, he could hear someone, presumably a teacher, scream, but he just concentrated on Janos and pulled back his elbow, fist balled, and knocked his lights out with one well placed punch. He vaguely recognised that Janos had dropped the guns, and decided not to pick them up- if they found the idiot's fingerprints it was hardly his fault, was it?  
Kind of exhausted now, Erik hauled Janos's limp body up and balanced him over a strong shoulder, grunting with the effort. Before he went, he spared one glance at the kids huddled in front of some lockers in the corner. They looked about ten, and most of them were visibly trembling.  
Erik sagged slightly. "M'sorry." he muttered, and hurried out.

Only to hear light, running footsteps behind him, and whirl around to try and scare some stupid teacher off, and see a little boy with floppy chestnut hair and those same electric blue eyes. His clothes were nice, but he was wearing long sleeves in summer and there was a dark bruise shadowing his left eye.  
"Erik!" shouted the kid, flying to a stop about four metres away from him.  
Erik dropped Janos was a slight crash - and a groan from the man in question, whom he silenced by stomping on his lungs - and glared at the kid. Really, he was astonished at how naive the child could possibly be, but 'conceal don't feel' had been Erik's modus operandi long before Frozen came out.  
"You again?" asked Erik reluctantly.   
Charles nodded apologetically. "Still my step-dad, I'm afraid."  
"Ah. Your sister's safe?"  
Charles glanced down at his feet. "She's adopted. She wouldn't get any money if my mum died."  
Erik winced. Maybe not so naive then.  
"Well, have a good life." he finished, grabbing Janos again. "Don't get killed."   
"You too, Erik." agreed Charles softly, and turned around to hurry back into class.

3\. This job was an easy one. In and out drug the coffee at a coffee shop, target drinks it, feels a bit sick, goes home and has a heart attack. Easy.  
In theory.  
Standing around, however, with his expresso, hating Starbucks with a passion and waiting to pour the powder 'accidentally' into the coffee of the next guy along, Erik happened to recognise a cheerfully British accented voice and that same mop of soft brown hair, and the kid speaking looked about the same age, and - sure enough - the coffee he had been waiting for was tea and the name written on the cup was 'Charles'. He rolled his eyes, and shoved his hands into his pockets, waiting for the kid to see him. He was twenty seven now, but he had scarcely changed, and besides, people tended to remember men who had tried to shoot them. Twice.  
Charles, somewhat unsurprisingly, walked straight into him, smiling at a pretty blonde girl a few years younger than him.  
"Oh, sorry!"  
"Hello, Mr. Xavier."  
The boy blinked those huge blue eyes once in confusion, and them beamed. "Hi, Erik! You're not... here on, um, work... are you?"  
"Yes. You again, I'm afraid."  
Charles glanced away anxiously at the blonde girl at the door. "You're not going to-"  
"No. You're not a kid anymore, but I've saved you twice. Might as well continue."  
Charles began to smile again, hesitantly, and reached for his tea.  
"I wouldn't drink that." coughed Erik guiltily, and Charles obediently just put it down and get walking. "Listen, your stepdad isn't still trying to kill you, is he? Because surely he could have hired someone else by now-"  
"Oh, no, no. He's dead. There was a fire, very tragic."  
Charles's blithe and casual attitude towards the whole thing seemed to denote something far deeper to Erik, especially since the teenager - and the girl, who was presumably his sister - had stopped looking so underfed. The assassin remembered the black eye that Charles had had the last time he had seen him with something like fury, and thought that maybe it was best that his stepfather was dead.  
"So who's attempting your murder now?" wondered Erik out loud, and Charles bit his lip sheepishly.  
"William Stryker." he admitted.  
"Huh?"  
"Colonel Bill Stryker. My father was an old friend of his, but me and Raven found out he was stealing from us, so we liquidated his assets and it made him rather mad."  
Erik had to check that his jaw wasn't actually on the floor.  
"Ok, you're just cool with people trying to kill you. Fair enough."  
"I've got to be, right? It's not like I can prevent it."  
"Have you ever thought about taking self-defence classes?" asked Erik dryly, one eyebrow raised.  
Charles scoffed embarrassedly. "I'm fourteen and five foot two. And a weakling."  
Erik smile sharkishly and reached down to ruffle the boy's hair, earning several incredibly annoyed but resigned sounds.  
Charles pulled away the second he stopped, and expression of acute outrage on his face. "Don't ruffle my hair! You... hitman, you!"  
Erik nodded. "Yes, that would be me. Try to survive, alright? Otherwise I've spent several years pointlessly not killing you."  
Charles nodded. "Honestly, I'm not too keen on dying myself."  
They walked out of the door and went their separate directions like strangers.

4\. You'd think college dorms would have slightly better security. It was incredibly simple for Erik to open a window and slip silently inside, like a shadow.  
"Room number 2B, down the hall." whispered Frost's voice in his ear, and he nodded and hurried forwards.  
The door had several posters pinned to it, stoically ignoring the empty pinboard right next door, including but not limited to one for the legalisation of cannabis, pro-feminism, and adverts for a men's choir and an advanced algebra club.  
Best of all, thought Erik, was the messily painted sign under the door number, that just read 'Or not 2B?' Some smartass had added, in biro, 'That is the question'.  
Erik tried not to wonder what some dorky college student had done to warrant being assassinated.  
"The non-ginger." explained Frost again, and he raised a boot to kick the door in.  
'The ginger' in question hadn't even been slightly disturbed, and was lying entwined around a beefy looking blonde boy, their covers thrown all over the floor. They were both snoring loudly.  
The kid on the other bed had winced at the noise and light from the corridor, and was sitting up, brushing untidy, longish, wavy hair out of his face and-  
Erik mentally cursed and shoved the pistol back into its holster.  
"W-What's... going on...?" yawned a tired and confused Charles, and then recognised the intruder and sat up. "Erik! Again?!"  
Erik reached up to pull off his semi-rolled up balaclava. "Yes, me again. You seem to attract enemies."  
The ginger on the other bed finally stirred - although his companion was, apparently, utterly unconscious - with a groan and Charles made a little 'shoo' gesture at Erik.  
"Out, out, not everyone knows people try to kill me," he explained fussily, jumping out of bed himself and tugging Erik with him.  
The broken door closed behind them, and they were left standing outside; Charles in a pair of grey boxers and a t-shirt, Erik all in black, carrying three guns and a bulletproof vest. The younger of the two wrapped his arms around himself to keep the cold out, hopping from one foot to another. "So, um, hi...?" he said sheepishly, and Erik let out a deep breath.  
"You are truly ridiculous, you know that? I thought I told you not to get killed."  
Charles shrugged helplessly. "I would like to reiterate that it's not on purpose or anything. Who was it this time?"  
"I don't know."  
The door creaked open, and they were met with the puppyishly confused face of Charles's ginger roommate.  
"Charlie, man, wha's goin'on?" he slurred, almost definitely intoxicated, and Charles turned to Erik with something of an apology in his face, and before Erik had a chance to say anything or shoot anyone, Charles's arms were around his neck and they were kissing.  
Faintly, Erik heard the young man's 'Oh, right, sweet' and the sound of the door closing again in the background, but his attention was somewhat more focused on the kiss. Their mouths were open, and they moved slightly, but there were no tongues. Charles seemed hesitant, awkward.  
As soon as the ginger had gone, he pulled off and hopped back down to his normal height - he hadn't grown much since he was fourteen, apparently - and offered Erik a flustered smile.  
"Sorry. That was the only thing I could think of."  
Erik blinked, stunned, and saved it under 'Overanalyse later'.  
"Isn't your friend going to ask-" he started, brain still working in stops and starts, but Charles just laughed and shook his head.  
"No. Chances are Sean won't remember that by the morning."  
Erik's eyebrows furrowed, and he stopped trying to be able to form coherent words.  
"He's a philosophy major," explained Charles, picking up the unsaid question. "And also baked out of his mind most of the time. He's the one who chose the room, for the whole 'To be or not to be' thing. Thinks it's funny."  
"...Oh." said Erik. "Yeah, right."  
"I'm doing biology." continued the younger man.  
"That's good."  
There was a silence, the awkwardness practically tangible in the air.  
"Raven's fine, by the way," added Charles quickly. "My sister."  
"Ok." finished Erik. "I'm going to go now. This time, I really mean it: avoid hitmen. Please."  
"I'll try." chuckled Charles, as Erik walked towards the window he had opened.

5\. Erik was sat at the table of his flat, eating breakfast, his partner Azazel asleep on the couch, when Frost walked in.  
Azazel had no romantic relation to him. In fact, all Erik knew about the man was that he was Russian, he was tall, he was overly fond of vodka, his hair was black and he wore it slicked back, and there was a tattoo of the devil on his back. Azazel knew pretty much the same bare facts about Erik.  
Neither of them knew anything worth listing about Frost.  
"I have a job." she announced, voice and face devoid of emotion, and Azazel swore into a cushion in Russian.  
"Put some clothes on." replied Erik, which was his standard greeting to Frost. She liked to wear as little as possible, usually all white, to distract people from her deadly intelligence. "You'd give mein mama a heart attack."  
"Your mama can go fuck herself." replied Frost, which was her usual greeting to him. "There's a student of genetics at Oxford University, England. Someone wants him shot at his graduation. Preferably before he's officially a professor."  
Azazel sat up and began to take notice, pulling on a red shirt over his bare, scarred chest. "A student?" he asked, some element of glee coming into his voice. "Erik couldn't possibly go after him."  
"What?" asked Emma, clipped and short and demanding.  
"Erik's boyfriend." crooned Azazel, and Erik threw his spoon down into his cereal and suddenly wished that he was eating something a little more dramatic.  
"Seriously, Az? Is that honestly the level of your maturity?"  
"What." came Frost's voice again.  
Erik sighed. "Is it Charles Xavier?"  
Her eyes narrowed. "Yes."  
"I'm not doing it." barked Erik immediately, and Azazel fell about laughing in the background as Frost sighed.  
"Why not?"  
"It's his BOYFRIEND!" yelled Azazel in the background.  
"It's that kid." said Erik.  
"Jesus, Erik."  
He shrugged. "I promised to keep him alive. Don't you dare send anyone."  
She hesitated, and then sat down delicately opposite him, legs folding. "In that case, no one's doing anything."  
One elegant hand reached out and absentmindedly stole his breakfast, and Erik rolled his eyes resignedly and went to make toast.

+1.  
"How does it feel to be a professor, professor?" teased the tall blonde, jogging to keep up with her brother.  
He winced. "Ugh, no. You're not a professor until you have a teaching position."  
"I know that, but it suits you." she laughed.  
"Don't say that! Do say 'let's go have a drink'."  
"Let's go have a drink." she repeated. He nodded.  
"Yeah, alright."  
The rain started and he groaned and went to look for his umbrella in his pocket, and a strong hand tapped politely on his shoulder.  
"Excuse me," said a deeper voice. "You dropped your phone."  
Charles glanced up, a friendly smile already on his face to thank whoever had picked it up, and then started in surprise and grinned. "Oh! It's you!"  
Erik smiled warmly and he and Charles hugged in a way that would suggest they'd been friends for ages.  
"I added my number." he hissed into Charles's ear as they did.  
"Who's this?" asked Charles's sister curiously, and Erik inwardly thanked god that she didn't recognise him.  
"Oh, Raven, this is my good friend E-" Erik coughed embarrassedly. "Magnus, my good friend, Magnus."  
"Hi." she said, slightly awkwardly. "Do you two work together?"  
"Charles comes into my work sometimes." explained Erik, clapping him on the shoulder. "I just thought I'd apologise for a silly little thing that happened last time we met. My co-worker wouldn't stop teasing me about it."  
Charles rubbed his nose to cover a small laugh. "It's fine, I really don't mind."  
"Me neither." agreed Erik in an undertone. "But I just thought it might have looked like I did."  
"I was eighteen." murmured Charles, as his sister lost interest and looked away. "I'm twenty four now, by the way."  
"Thirty seven?" offered Erik shyly.  
"Hot older guy." nodded Charles wisely.  
His sister turned back towards them. "So," asked Charles brightly. "Do you want to come and have drinks than us?"  
"Ah, no," he said slowly. "But if you text me about coffee tomorrow?"  
"Certainly! See you then."  
The two of them hurried off through the rain, and a moment later Erik's phone buzzed.

-This has got to be the weirdest way to get a boyfriend EVER-


End file.
